


like hope, unexpected

by elle_est (orphan_account)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bran has told Sansa and Arya about Jon's parentage, F/M, Future, Introspection, Past, Protection, Set between 08x01 and 08x02, Spoilers, possibility, present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 15:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18574618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/elle_est
Summary: Sansa doesn't underestimate the value of hope.





	like hope, unexpected

Arya told her nearly a fortnight ago that she’s always liked beautiful things. Her sister is not wrong. Even when they were younger and Sansa was better at letters and trapping facts within her mind, Arya has never been anything but sharp like the weapons she’s now so good at wielding. Sansa’s affinity for beauty is a trait much too deeply hers to be left behind like some of the other childish things she’s needed to let go of at different points during her long, serpentine journey.

Beauty used to be lush, clean, _obvious_ for her: the sun dipping into the horizon and painting everything pink and faintest blue, golden hues casted everywhere. Now beauty lies more and more in glimmering, dark things, in unpolished things, the scent of leather and sweat, salt and ice: Winterfell and fires roaring inside every hearth, Arya and Bran talking and laughing with friends and allies where she can see, - Jon’s eyes finding her again, what’s trapped there unfailingly loving.

~

Sansa went so long without an affectionate touch that she can’t help but know the incalculable power in it. And therefore she tries to be clever with her affections. Mostly, she is, - except when sincerity outweighs calculations and she gives in to its tide. It’s what happens so often with Brienne, Theon, Arya, some rare times with Bran, with Jon.

Her sincerity overruns her most with Jon. Sansa tells herself she’s making amends for past mistreatments and slights, her touches tangible proof that she’s moved on from the too proud, petty girl she was prone to be, once. Which serves as no explanation for the gentle yet wide and encompassing _something_ that blooms under her skin when she’s alone with Jon and she gives in to the desire to touch him.

Though it’s been some time since she allows herself to get lost in songs, she thinks she might understand the saddest ones of them whenever she draws back from Jon, fire dancing under her skin and ice sheathing her heart.

~

Her hate for the Targaryen queen is not unexpected but the quality to it as it presses down on her chest is. Sansa should be thinking of the future she knows will stretch on before them, of the past and its many lessons. And she does do such things. Most of her thoughts are spent in such things: Sansa keeps returning to how Daenerys has every resource to prove unmovable and overbearing if she follows her ancestors maps and claws her way until she’s sitting atop the Iron Throne.

Still, much too often Sansa finds herself fixating on the present: Daenerys is brash, Daenerys has proven herself capable of swift cruelty, and Daenerys is an outsider who wants to change too much in too little a span of time. Most of all, Sansa keeps coming back to how: she wants to shatter things whenever Jon finds Daenerys with his eyes yet again, even though something inside grows at once calmer and more aching when Sansa arrives at the observation that… how Jon looks at Daenerys is barely any different than how Jon looks at _her_ during some of the quieter moments spent between them.

~

She’s trembling as she leaves Bran’s chambers behind, Arya walking beside her. If Bran and his sight are to be trusted… Jon is a Targaryen. The last man of the line, - with the strongest Targaryen claim to the Iron Throne.

The thought unfolds slowly: Jon is a Targaryen _and_ a Stark. Targaryens fly dragons over the rules when these do not please them; Starks live by the rules, trusting that they are roots to sink deep into the ground and create strong forests. Which means that perhaps something unlikely will emerge if Jon ever does allow himself to sit above the Iron Throne, some odd marriage between incompatible elements, - perhaps only the best rules will remain while every other one will be fed to some raging pyre.

“I’m glad for Jon,” Arya says, voice lowered to a barely audible whisper, soft emotions chasing across her face for once.

“As am I, ” Sansa confesses gently, - _for him, for me, for what could be_. She’s already told Bran to not stray from Daenerys Targaryen, having seen enough of the queen to be certain that, when the time comes, Daenerys will not take the revelation about Jon’s parentage with any degree of unresisting, flexible acceptance. Her mind keeps returning to the point: Jon is a Targaryen _and_ a Stark… - Sansa can’t say she isn’t partial to the stir of hope blooming across her blood, warming her skin like a prelude to a spring that might yet arrive.

~


End file.
